The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 92: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

86 man yelled. The rifle had been cocked, and the jar had pulled the trigger. The bullet, happily, went straight up, through a beam, then the floor, then a rafter, and cut of the roof. That far the loggers traced its course. From all sides there ensued low and pro- fane swearing, but Red Hamblin laughed aloud. “ That’s all right, old sport!” he said to the blue-lipped young man. ‘“ Accidents will happen, y’ know. Two, three years ago I killed a feller myself, kind of acci- dentally.” “You did?” the youth asked breathless- ly. “‘ How did that happen?” “Why, all there was to it, I picked up a gun like this, and I poked it against his ribs that way ””— Red poked the young man just above the belt with the rifle muzzle— “‘ and I was kind of fooling with the trigger —like that, you see! And the danged thing went off!” “‘ Oh—yes!”’ the sport gasped, side-step- ping the muzzle quickly, exclaiming: * Look out—that might—” “Oh, no! This ain’t loaded!’’ Red shook his head. “I just seen it go off! TI tell you, since I killed po’r ole Pete, I be’n aw- ful careful. I never seen a man bleed the way he done! Well, come on to supper!” Red and the rest of the crew went in to eat. D. Cuecy wanted to wash. When he finally looked into the dining-room, Red spied him on the instant. “Right here, old sport!” he shouted. *‘ Saved a place here for ye!” D. Cuecy walked along doubtfully, and when he saw that he must step over the long bench to take his place, he hesitated just long enough to show that the bench was not to his exact liking. Moreover, piled on his place, ready for him, were four potatoes, three great greasy slabs of fried pork, beginning to grow cold, and nearly a cup full of good old pork grease—the kind that makes the hair grow on a man’s chest! as Red told him. “Get around it!” Red_ exclaimed. “Here’s the butter. Pass that bread, you blue-eyed sow-belly! This gen’leman’s been huntin’, an’ he’s hongry! Say, mister —d’ye eat cake er bread with yer taters?” THE ARGOSY. ‘ Why—I—usually—” D. Cuecy was nearly speechless. He made a stagger at eating, and the flavor was not really bad. It was good; besides, he was hungry, as Red had said, and Red stood by and with the most friend- ly solicitation in the world, heaped more and more things to eat on the big plate, till there was an outlying ridge of fried cakes, bread, meat, potatoes, and other things which had fallen off the plate, or which the guest had succeeded in pushing away .as Red’s big hands tried to press it upon him. Commonly, the log crew ate its fill in twenty to twenty-five minutes, but this night it took them nearly forty minutes to dine. Some of them ate twice as much as usual, just to have an excuse to remain. The cook brought two cups, one for coffee and one for tea—and while D. Cuecy was putting one down, Red would be lifting the other to his lips. Probably D. Cuecy never had another meal like that. -His woods hosts could not do enough for him. One even brought a ham from the shed and asked if he would have a slice. With some relief he escaped for a moment to the lobby, but there all hands turned too, to make him comfortable, and Red and Ross Compty tried to pull him to the log-end chairs which each pro- vided for him. Red proceeded to clean the rifle, which had been discharged that afternoon. It was a beautiful octagon barrel, with en- graved breech and carved stock. Red brought out a long piece of hay wire, and wrapped a piece of red flannel around the end. Then he swabbed the flannel in stove ashes and proceeded to draw it through the barrel. D. Cuecy could hear the wire scratching through the barrel, and he began to worry —he tried to explain that he had a real cleaner, real gun oil, and real linen rags. “Them fancy things ain’t no good!” Red declared. ‘‘ Takes good wood ashes to have a bite to clean a gun barr’! out!” D. Cuecy protested, but in vain. In the mean while each of the others took out his other weapons and looked at them—a beau- tiful double-barrel shotgun, and a little twenty-two repeater. One fired the shot- oO comicbooks CO